Memoirs of a Hiccup
by Alexander Ryan
Summary: Hiccup retells his story, from the day he was born, to the day he writes it all down. He even speaks of his best friend and eventual lover, Jack Overland.


I was born in the town of Upernavik, Greenland, on February 29, 1996. It was a cold place. It rarely ever rose above 8 degrees Celsius in the hottest of the months. For those of you who don't know what that equates to, that's about 46 degrees. It was a small town full of nice people. Neighbours who would go out of the way to help you finish that tree house you were building for your son, or would bake you a pie or cake for your anniversary or birthday. I can't count how many times my father and I have been invited to someone's house for dinner. You see, my dad was an important man in that town. He had come from Scotland when he was 17, with my mother. Ever since he arrived, he was looked up to. You could say he was pretty much the leader.

My mother passed away when I was 5. My dad and I don't talk about it much. When I was younger, I didn't understand why she didn't come back home. I couldn't understand why they were putting her in the ground. I remember screaming at my dad, telling him that she was going to suffocate, that she was couldn't live down there. That she had to come home. I kept tugging on his hand and pleading him to tell me why my mother wasn't waking up. He was too choked up to quiet me. All the villagers were. I quieted on my own after a while. I guess it was 'cause nobody scolded me, nobody paid attention. Everyone kept staring at the coffin as it lowered. I stared, too, my hand tightly grasping the sleeve of my father's funeral clothes. There was only one time where I cried that hard in my life, and the next time was going to be much, much worse. I don't remember much about my mother. This, unfortunately, was the most vivid memory I have. I don't want to cling to it. I hate that it's what I remember the best out of everything. I only do so I won't forget my mother's face.

After my mother's death, my father took up the role of a mother. He didn't exactly have the best cooking. He never did. His stew is the best you can ask for if you want fish heads floating around in the broth. Or fish eyes. I eventually grew used to it, but I remember screaming the first time I saw a fish eye bob up and down in the broth. I learned to just accept it and tell my father it tastes great. He really does try to take care of me. He even signed me up for an online school so I could still gain an education, using the little money he had to help pay for the internet bill and anything else I needed for my classes.

From a young age, I could tell I was a disappointment to my father. He loved me as any father would love his son, but he was disappointed with how I turned out. He, his father, and his father before that were all large, strong men. They were all big-boned with broad shoulders and thick muscles, as well as a few extra pounds. If they stood together in a crowd, they would tower over everyone and the people would part to create a 10-foot radius around them. But here I was, a talking fishbone. My father had already been thick-set when he reached the age of eight. He could easily be the star quarterback of the football team. I, on the other hand, was thin and lanky. Clumsy. Short. I wasn't what he expected, and I could see that.

I tried. I really did. Everyday, I tried to help my father with his duties. I tried to help him carry the neighbour's chest of clothes to the ship. I dropped it and the clothes scattered across the muddy ground summer had so kindly left us. I tried to help put out the fire in Aani's house. I ended up breaking her prized doll collection instead. I tried to help fish. I couldn't hold on and ended up dropping the whole net back into the ocean, losing our catch. I was born as Hildrick Hanson Haddock III. I was basically renamed Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. Not just by the villagers, but by my father himself. He, too, took on calling me Hiccup. Everywhere I went, I was called "Hiccup". I was sick of everyone calling me Hiccup. I knew I was a mess-up. I knew I wasn't what my father wanted me to be. But after a year of just taking it, I decided to push right back. I no longer cared what they called me. They could call me Worthless. When I was nine, I adopted the name as my own. I cast away the name Hildrick Handson Haddock III and became Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. I wouldn't allow anyone to call me by that old name.

I convinced my father to change my name, legally, a month after I adopted it. "It's a part of me, Dad," I remember telling him. It took a full month of talking to him about it, but finally he agreed. He said that if it was what I wanted, then he would do that for me. I wasn't just Hiccup in my mind now. It wasn't just known to the villagers and my father. I was now completely and fully Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. I wore that name with pride.

When I was ten, Dad and I moved away from our home in Upernavik. It was hard for him to say goodbye to everyone there. I didn't find it so hard. Sure, the people were kind, but they were always so wary of me, worrying that I would break something. They watched me like a hawk would watch a mouse, waiting for me to make one wrong move so they could swoop in and take the bait. I had no friends. I was alone throughout my childhood. The only person I talked to was my father, and he wasn't always home. But don't think that I just sat around doing nothing. I picked up the hobby of drawing. I had a strong imagination and could always draw what I pictured in my head. I considered it a gift. My father, on the other hand, no doubt considered it a curse. A sort of trade. I wasn't given the gift of strength. I was given the curse of artistic imagination.

We flew all the way to the United States, where we became citizens. It was a new start, my father told me. We first settled in Maine. It was odd for me to be speaking English to everyone around me. I had grown up used to speaking in Greenlandic. (Yes, that is a language.) It was... different for me to suddenly be speaking in another language. I usually only spoke English around my father, though a lot of my former neighbours could speak it as well. It didn't take me long to adapt, even if it was a bit odd at first.

My father was given a job as a business man. What company he works for, I can never remember. He climbed the ladder quicker than I expected. He became the head of his own small business within the company. With his experience in leadership, he easily took the reins and pulled in much more money than I ever thought was possible for him. Though, don't get me wrong, it wasn't like he was a millionaire or anything. It was just a lot more than what I was used to, coming from a small town in Greenland. A year after we moved to Maine, my father's company urged him to move him and his section to a new location. In the middle of summer, we moved again, this time to a suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A neighbourhood called Fairywood. It wasn't that bad of a place. I didn't mind living there. My father, with the money he reeled in, was able to buy a nice, two-story house.

The whole top floor, though small, was mine. My room was a nice size with a large window that I could climb out of, if I really wanted to. Not that it was all that hard, with how small I am. I usually just used that window for sitting on when warm summer days rolled in. I was able to fit a bed, a desk, and a chest inside easily, with room to spare. I had my own bathroom connected to my room, which was an added bonus. The rest of the top floor was just the landing at the top of the stairs. Not a big, grand, top story. Just something comfortable and only large enough to put a window seat next to the window at the end of the short hall.

Downstairs wasn't as big as you would think, either, but again. It was comfortable. The door opened up to a small living room with a fireplace as the centerpiece. No TV. My father didn't consider it important and frankly, I didn't care if we didn't have one. I had books to read. Sketchbooks to draw on. Parks to explore. My father's bedroom was on the right wall, beyond the loveseat. The storage room, where we kept non perishables (a habit from Greenland), was just below the stairs, through an archway with a hanging cloth hiding it. The kitchen and dining room were both underneath my room, at the back of the house. The bathroom was next to the dining room. Don't ask why it's there. I don't know. Seems like poor planning to me.

I grew tired of the online school soon after we moved. It was just about nearing the end of summer when I noticed kids walking down our street with bags strapped to their back. Upon doing research, I discovered there were local schools I could attend. I talked my father into signing me up for them. He sent me to school not far from my house. I could walk there from where I lived, and I usually did. He bought me a messenger bag, and a few other things I would need. The first day I left for school, I brought along with me my sketchbook.

I was introduced in front of the whole class a few weeks after school had already started. I remember many of the students laughed and giggled at my name. Hiccup Haddock. I let them laugh. I didn't care. It was my name. It was my choice to adopt it. I merely just smiled and said it was nice to meet them. I did, however, get back at them by muttering something else in my home language. When they asked, I merely just said that I said the same thing. I don't remember the first few days all too well. I just remember it being difficult to sit through the lectures at first. I already knew how to read and write. I had no problem with that. You see, I was a fast learner. I was observant, even at the young age of eleven. My problem was that everyone else was slower than I was. So I usually finished my work early and had to sit there, waiting for everyone else.

I learned to grow more patient with my classmates as time wore on. I took my sketchbook with me wherever I went and if I finished my work, I didn't just sit there and stare at the clock. I instead spent my time drawing and sketching. At first, the teacher disapproved of this, thinking I was slacking off. I remember the look on her face when I proved that all my answers were correct - and that I could easily repeat all of them in less time than it took to do them the first time.

A few weeks after I joined school, I found a place to just sit and sketch during lunch. It was a nice, shady place just far enough from the school to where the students playing and yelling was just background noise, but close enough to where I could hear the bell. It was just a small clearing, found when crawling through the bushes that rose above your head when you stood up. That was the day I met Jackson Overland. I remember that day like it happened just yesterday.

I had called that shady little place my home. I sat with my back pressed against the thick trunk of the tree growing in the middle of the ring of bushes, with my knees curled up toward me. My sketchbook rested in my lap as my left hand quickly worked in sketching out the scene that come to my head. It was of a black dragon darting through a forest of rock pillars that jutted out from the ocean, the waves crashing into the rock formations. I was atop that dragon, leaning forward with a determined gaze. I don't know where the idea for that had come from, but it was a subject I had found interesting for years to come. And that was what had started a new friendship.

"Whatcha drawing?"

I jumped at the sound of a new voice. I thought I was safe here, in my little hideout that I found. It was my sanctuary. But now, that sanctuary was broken. My eyes locked with brown ones. Warily, I glanced to the smile the other held. It wasn't born from ill intent. The boy was merely asking out of genuine curiosity. "A... dragon. And his rider," I carefully explained.

"Cool! Let me see!" I had no time to respond. The sketchbook was already out of my hands. He held it up as he stood up straight. The sketchbook was held at arms length, then pulled closer as he investigated it.

I quickly stood to my feet, reaching for the sketchbook. "Hey! Give that back!" I demanded. My voice, alas, failed me. It had come out much weaker than I had anticipated.

The brown-haired boy held the book out away from me, tilting it so he could see it. The more I reached for it, the higher he held it. He was a good five inches taller than I was, much to my displeasure. Finally having enough of me running around him, trying to grab it, he lifted it high up into the air and tilted it so he could still see it. "Cool your jets, shrimp. I'm only looking. You can have it back when I'm done," he reassured. His tone told me he wasn't lying. Still, I found myself not able to trust him.

I stopped reaching for it. I glared at him, seething, as he lowered the sketchbook. He held it out to me. I snatched it away and dusted off an imaginary piece of dirt, cradling the half-full sketchbook in my right arm. I watched him carefully. He merely just gave a smile back and shoved his hands in his pants pockets, the white shirt folding over his wrists.

"Looks good so far. You gotta show me it when you're done, got it?"

I remained silent. I decided right then and there that I would have nothing to do with this guy. As far as I was concerned, he wasn't one to make friends with. I situated myself back down against the tree and laid the sketchbook across my lap. I gathered up the pencil that had dropped to the ground. I groaned inwardly as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him plop himself down right beside me.

"I'm Jack. You are?"

I ignored him. I went back to my sketching. He asked a few more times for my name. Even jokingly asked if I was deaf. But after a few moments, he quieted down. Silence filled the small circle. I was content with this. I happily continued to add the details to my drawing. But then I felt eyes on me. No, not on me. On my drawing. My hand stopped moving and my eyes cautiously wandered to the one next to me. He was sitting there, leaning against the tree, head almost brushing my shoulder as he watched what I did. I scooted away from him. He scooted closer. We did this a few more times before I finally gave up.

I continued to draw. Only a few moments later and I felt eyes directly on me. My eyes flicked to the one next to me. This time, he was facing me, his face only a few inches from mine. I let out a shout of surprise and flung myself to the side, toppling onto my elbow as I held up a hand in defense. My sketchbook fell to the ground.

"So. You want to tell me your name yet?"

I couldn't believe this guy! I showed him nothing but disinterest in befriending him. Yet here he was, trying to get a name out of me. I gave up. I collected my things and returned back to my original position. "Hiccup," I finally answered, my eyes focused solely on my drawing.

He seemed to back off after that. I no longer felt his eyes on me, no longer felt his presence so close. "Hiccup," he echoed. The name caught my attention. I glanced to my side to see his head was tilted back and he was looking to the sky. A smile alighted his lips. He wasn't saying my name to grab my attention. He was testing it on his tongue. His grin grew wider as he looked to me, big brown eyes locking with mine. "I like it!"

From there, I learned a bit more about him. The lunch break was too short to really learn much. And we were so young back then, we didn't exactly know what to talk about. I learned that he had a little sister named Emma. I remember we talked mostly of her, only 5 at the time, all the way until the lunch bell rang. We exited the ring of bushes and bid our goodbyes, but just as I started walking away, I heard him call to me, "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

I remember being frozen in shock at first. I didn't know what to say. All these years and someone finally wanted to be my friend, completely out of the blue. Granted, he didn't know how clumsy or useless I was at the time, but he was still considering me a friend the first day we met. I turned to him with a bright smile and replied, "Of course! Don't be late!"

After that, we started meeting up every day at lunch. I still brought my sketchbook and would draw until he got there. I always brought a packed lunch, just a sandwich in a paper bag. I never needed to eat much. Jack, on the other hand, ate the cafeteria food. And from what I could tell, he could scarf down food as if he wasn't going to have even a bite to eat for as long as he lived. Whenever he did arrive, he always managed to startle me in one way or another. Sometimes, he would climb up into the tree, swing down so he hung by his knees, flail his arms in front of me, and yell "Booga wooga wooga!" Others, he would hide behind the tree and, when I least expected it, he would come out from the side and merely just tap my shoulder, hide behind the tree, and keep doing that until I finally managed to grab his hand and glare up at him. It was always in good fun, though, and all my glares were accompanied by a lopsided smile to let him know I wasn't angry or annoyed with him.

I don't quite remember all the things we talked about. I can recall only bits and pieces, and usually the more important stuff. The things that stick out in my memory the most. Such as when he asked to see my whole sketchbook. It took nearly the whole lunch period for him to look through it. He looked over the details of every picture before he flipped the page. When he handed it back, he mentioned that I was a great artist and asked if I could draw him something sometime. I agreed to it. Though, I didn't realize it would take years just to complete something I deemed worthy enough to give to my first friend.

As the rest of the year rolled on, I learned more about my new friend. I learned that he was a year older than I, making him twelve at the time, and in a higher grade. He lived thirty minutes away from where I did, in a town called Burgettstown. I laughed at the name at first, but once I realized it was a real town, I apologized for it. He said that he, too, laughed at it the first time he moved there. I remember Jack dragged me just about anywhere. At first, we stayed in our little hideout, which I had come to find out was Jack's hideout throughout all of elementary. But the more we knew each other, the more Jack pulled me out of the safety of the ring of bushes and out onto the open playground.

Jack, as I came to realize, was the troublemaker of the school. The class clown. He showed off. A _lot_. I have never seen anyone who did as many stupid things as Jack did in his youth. He teased a lot of the girls and when winter rolled around, he was the very first to start the snowball fights. And no matter what he did, he never failed to pull me into it. He would play many pranks on teacher and student alike. And I was always right there, following behind. He often led me around by my hand or wrist, tugging me this way and that. I nearly tripped a lot when he did this, but I never really minded it. It was the most fun I had ever had in my entire life.

My father and I were confused about the school break in November. At first, we had no idea where it had come from, why it was happening. Neither Greenland nor Scotland had such odd breaks in November. It had confused us last year, when I had online school, but at the time, we had just assumed that it so teachers could catch up grading and we dismissed it, forgotten about it. When I asked Jack about it, he burst out laughing, holding his stomach.

"You don't know about Thanksgiving?"

His voice was much louder than I would have liked, thanks to the laughter. I lifted my hands and motioned for him to quiet as I stood on my tip-toes to see over the bushes, just in case anyone heard us. I could feel my cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment. Thankfully, no one turned to the bushes, as far as I could see. "Shh. Keep it down."

Jack gave me an amused grin as he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Just where do you come from? A rock?"

I huffed and shot him a soft glare, my hands dropping to my sides. "No," I retorted. "I moved here from Greenland a little over a year ago."

"And you don't know about Thanksgiving?"

"No, I don't. Not everyone keeps up with American holidays, Jack."

Jack chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry, sorry. Anyway. Thanksgiving is a day of thanks, from back when the US was made." He and I sat on the ground as he explained exactly what it was. I don't remember the exact words, but I made sure to keep in my memory what the holiday was supposed to be and how it started. But, of course, you probably already know of Thanksgiving, so I won't explain it.

After he was done explaining, he looked at me with a bright smile. "So. What _do_ people speak in Greenland, anyway?"

I was just about to answer that, but he lifted his hand to stop me.

"Wait, wait, lemme guess." I sat back and raised an eyebrow. This was going to be good, I remember thinking. I motioned for him to continue. "English?"

"Nope."

"French?"

"No."

"Spanish?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Dutch."

"Wrong again."

"Japanese?"

"Yes, of course they speak Japanese." He brightened. "That was sarcasm." His smile fell to a frown.

"Irish?"

"Jack, they speak English in Ireland."

"Oh. Scottish?"

"That's English again, Jack."

He threw up his arms and leaned back against the tree. He let out a huff and looked to me. "I give up. What is it?"

"Greenlandic."

He gave me a look that told me he didn't believe me. "You're making that up."

"I'm serious! We speak Greenlandic and Danish in Greenland!"

Still that same look. I frowned. "If you don't believe me, then you can look it up yourself."

He shrugged it off and we continued our conversation. Most of it was him just asking about Greenland, all the way until the bell rang.

Christmas break rolled in at the end of December, marking the end of a semester. I wanted to spend it with my new friend (we didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, of course), but alas, he had to go to another state to spend time with some of his distant relatives. But that was okay. He and I would have many more adventures.

My birthday came around in February. It was rather uneventful, as it was every year. My father got me a small birthday present, bought a small cake for the two of us, and greeted me with a "Happy birthday, son" when I came home. A few days later, Jack found out that he had missed my birthday. He complained a whole week about it. When I asked him when his birthday was, he told me it was December 21st. I mentioned, with pride, that I hadn't gone to his party, either, so it was fair. He pouted and replied, "That's not fair. I was all the way in Connecticut." I let it go, feeling a sense of defeat.

I finished my first year of ordinary school with passing grades. Granted, my English skills weren't the best around and that was the worst grade, but I excelled at math. You can't blame a guy for being not-so-great at English when he grew up speaking English only to his father and writing either Danish or Greenlandic everywhere else. When April came, Jack began to walk me home. (He would get a ride from his mother after we said our goodbyes.) At first, I was nervous about it. I was worried that my father would be home early from work. Everyone who met my father, or at least everyone who was smaller than my father, was terrified of him. He was a large man with large muscles. I don't doubt he could crush a man's skull like a grape, if he tried.

I feared that if Jack saw him, he would be too intimidated by him to even speak to me in fear that I would sick my father on him. I did enjoy the company, though. I always found the walk home to be boring and much too quiet. I sometimes would just venture off into my own thoughts and get myself lost. Thankfully, I had memorized the area after the last few times and now, I didn't get lost.

What I had in mind with the meeting between Jack and my father was completely different. I thought Jack would scream and run. But when I opened the door to be greeted by my father, who had arrived home early that day, Jack just stood with his jaw slack and his eyes wide. But it was not in terror. It was in awe. He looked like a child who had just seen Santa Claus climb down the chimney. I nearly laughed at it. Awkwardly, I introduced the two. My father knew to be gentle with his handshake, for Jack was quite a small fellow. He would crush his hand if he tried to shake it like he normally did. Maybe even dislocate his shoulder.

That night, during dinner, my father congratulated me on gaining a friend. He asked me why I didn't tell him sooner and I merely just stated, "You never asked." He seemed flustered by that and merely just went back to eating supper.

School started up again in August. It was the hottest of the months and I, being from Greenland and then Maine, just felt like I was dying. Over the winter, I had forgotten about how hot it grew in Pittsburgh. Thankfully, the walk to school was nice and cool. A bit warm for my tastes, but cool. The walk back, however... It was hell. Jack even brought an umbrella one day to keep me out of the sun, though jokingly.

Soon after school started up, my class got a new transfer student. She was someone who had come from Iceland, a girl named Astrid Hofferson. I found her interesting. She was kind to many of the students, but if anyone gave her attitude, she would give it right back. She proved to be a girl you did not want to mess with. In September, I finally gained the courage to go up and talk to her during lunch. I tripped on a backpack and ended up wearing her lunch on my new shirt. She was furious. She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me close. "Who do you think you are?" she challenged. She looked me over as I asked for her to let go. "Wait. I know you. You're Hiccup Haddock, aren't you? The useless one who always messed things up?"

I frowned and was about to prove to her that I wasn't useless, but Jack cut in before I could. He waltzed right in and, with a look that still sends chills down my spine, grabbed her wrist. She winced. "Let him go," he demanded. His voice was ice cold.

Astrid glanced to me, then threw me back. I stumbled and tripped over my own feet. I grunted as my tailbone slammed into the concrete below. Jack was livid. He lifted his fist. Instantly, I was up and grabbing at his wrist. "Jack, stop!" I didn't realize I had such a loud voice when I yelled. I wasn't exactly one for yelling. Even when I argued with my father, I stayed quiet and mostly sounded pleading.

Even Jack was surprised with my voice. He looked to me, then back to Astrid, who challenged him with her gaze alone. 'Do it,' her expression screamed at him. He pushed his hand forward. It stopped once I gave it a light tug. He let out a huff and shoved her back just as she did me, lowering his fist. The only difference was, she wasn't clumsy enough to fall. Jack shot her a glare and grabbed my wrist, grumbling "Let's go" as he pulled me away. He tugged me all the way to our hiding spot, pulling me through the bushes. I closed my eyes to avoid any of the leaves or branches from scratching them, shielding my face with my free arm.

Once we were inside, he released my arm and turned to me. "Why did you stop me?"

I lowered my arms and looked to him. "Because she wasn't going to hurt me."

He looked at me skeptically. "How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "I saw it in her eyes. She didn't have any intention to hurt me. Just scare me a bit for ruining her food."

He grunted, but let it go. Slowly, he became the Jack I knew. The tension in my shoulders relaxed. He removed his jacket and his shirt, tossing me the shirt. I thanked him and promised to return it to him the next day, all clean. He merely just smiled.

I apologized to Astrid the next day, both for ruining her lunch and for Jack nearly punching her. She shrugged it off as if I was just talking about the weather. For days, I tried to talk to her. But I never was able to. She always brushed me off to go hang out with some of my other classmates, including a black-haired boy who clearly held feelings for her - and was quite open about it. I eventually gave up on talking to her and just watched from afar. I couldn't get my mind off of her. She was so interesting. She seemed so uninterested in everything, but if you looked closer, she was always watching, always surveying. She was strong for her age, too.

In December, Jack handed me an envelope before class, just before Christmas break started. He told me not to open it until I got home that evening. When he walked me home, he didn't just casually walk away after I stepped into my house. Instead, he bolted right when I got to the entryway. He gave a cheery wave, said "see ya!", and ran off, disappearing around the corner. I followed his instructions and opened up the curious thing in my room. It was a birthday invitation. I was invited to his birthday party on December 21st, during the Christmas break. I was so excited about it, I couldn't stop talking about it at the dinner table. My dad just laughed and told me that he would help me pick up a present for my friend. He genuinely seemed proud of me. Supportive, even. That made my smile even brighter.

The next day, my father took me out into town. We searched high and low for something that Jack would like. Though I had been around him for so long by then (a year and a half), I just couldn't see anything that fit. I was just about to give up when my father took me to an antique shop. That's when we found the perfect gift. He pointed out a medallion that fit in the size of my palm. It was a hammer encircled by a silver ring. When held up, you could spin the hammer. The flat ring around it had runic symbols carved into the metal. My father told me that the hammer depicted in the center was a representation of Thor's hammer. He told me the story of how the hammer came to Thor's hands, and how the vikings would wear Thor's hammer as a pendant for good luck. I was drawn to it. Something told me that this would be the best gift I could give Jack.

When we took it up to the counter, the old lady there smiled fondly. She told us that it had been passed down from generation to generation, all the way from viking times. How it stood the test of time, she said she didn't know. It was a part of her family's bloodline, but she had no children to present it to. For us to pick out that piece, she said it must have been fate. She told us what the symbols on the ring said. "May the wearer be granted with eternal happiness." We bought it.

The birthday party was the first time I had ever been to Jack's house. My dad drove me there, but because he had to go to work right after, he couldn't stay. It wasn't as large as I had imagined. It almost looked like a small cottage. The inside was cozy with a fire going in the fireplace, giving the area nice, comforting glow. After we ate cake, Jack opened the present I brought with me. He teased me about the meaning behind it at first, but after he realized how angry I was for doing so, he apologized and said that he truly did like it. I met Emma that day. She was a sweet girl. As I was sitting there, talking to Jack while we sat on his bed, she came in with a picture she had drawn and handed it to me. It was of her, Jack, and myself all ice-skating on a small pond. I smiled fondly and thanked her for it. The small girl, only six at the time, smiled back and ran off.

My 13th birthday went a little differently. My dad had to work that day, so I wasn't greeted by the usual "Happy birthday, son" and the store-bought cake. (Thankfully, he gave up baking cakes when I was young. If you could even call them cakes...) I was instead greeted by a note that said "Won't be home until late tonight. Make sure to be in bed by ten. Order pizza. Money's on the table." Jack, for some reason or another, couldn't walk me home that day. I sat alone in my room, the silence of the house being my only company.

I was sitting on my windowsill with the window wide open (I liked the chill the wind brought) when I heard my name shouted from down below. It startled me away from the drawing I was working on. Jack stood on the sidewalk next to our house, beaming up at me. In his hands was a small cake. A plastic bag hung around his elbow. I tossed the sketchbook and pencil to the bed and went down to let him in through the front door.

We had our own makeshift birthday party. Unlike the usual tradition between my father and me, Jack didn't allow me to eat until after dinner. So after exploring the trees near my house for a bit, we called up for some pizza. I used the money my dad left me and we both ate dinner sitting around the table. Jack asked me why we didn't have a TV in the house, and I just mentioned that we had no use for it. He merely hummed and continued eating. After our small dinner of pizza, Jack finally let me dive into the cake. We cut equal pieces and Jack wished me a happy birthday, which I responded to with a "thank you". Once the slice was nearly gone, I was allowed to open the present. Well, pull them out of the plastic bag he had hidden away in our storage room.

The first thing I pulled out of the bag was a leather-bound sketchbook. It was smaller than the ones I was used to, but the quality of it made up for that. It had a celtic knot design pressed into the leather, seeming to have been burned on. The paper was thick and well-made. On the inside cover, where the paper was glued to the leather to protect the leather from being ruined, there was a written note.

_'For my best friend Hiccup. - Jack'_

I smiled brightly at the gift I received. I had been running out of paper in my other sketchbooks and never before was I granted with such a well-made one. I thanked him for it, but he merely just said, "There's more in the bag." I reached inside and pulled out something I thought I would never use; a charcoal pencil. For years, I wanted to learn how to draw with something like this. I had always used pencils, usually mechanical ones for the sake of not breaking a wooden one, but I was always interested in trying out different mediums. Charcoal was one I was highly interested in.

I couldn't control my excitement. Eyes bright, I looked to Jack. I tried to rein it in, but alas, I could not. "Thank you so much, Jack! I've been trying to get these for years!"

Jack beamed at me. After a moment, he just shrugged and leaned back in his chair, as though he were just relaxing. A smirk overtook his grin. "I thought you'd like it. I always saw you drawing."

Once again, I thanked him. From that day forward, I only drew with charcoal. Each time I ran out of notebook paper or if I wore out my pencil, Jack would be right there with a new one. It never failed. It always surprised me that he took such care in noticing just how much paper I had left, just so he could buy me a new notebook. And each time he handed one to me, I could only thank him and he would say the same exact thing; "I just thought you'd like some more."

The summer started once again. Jack and I were inseparable. Wherever one would go, the other was sure to follow. Jack couldn't drive yet, but it didn't matter. His mother never seemed to mind picking him up from my house just before dinner. Thankfully, Jack rarely had to try my dad's recipes. I never wanted him to taste the horror, but alas, it was inevitable. There were a few days where he stayed all the way 'til dinner. He never said a word about it, but would make a face of disgust whenever my dad wasn't looking. I had to hold in my laughter and stare at my food. We didn't just stay at home. We walked all around Fairywood, and even beyond. We liked to stick to the trees surrounding the area, sometimes venturing a little farther. I never liked jumping the fences, but Jack's enthusiastic words and hand motions always got me excited enough to just not care anymore.

Just like it was in school, Jack tugged me around everywhere. And I didn't mind. I followed him willingly.

The summer came to a close far faster than I wanted it to. School would be starting up again. But it would never be the same. Jack had graduated from eighth grade. He would be moving on to high school. I, being a year younger, would be stuck in middle school - without Jack.

The day before school started, Jack and I hung out from sunrise to sunset. We bought ourselves some ice cream, we walked through the trees, we even broke sticks off of trees and used them as swords. I didn't care about the summer heat beating down on me. Not that day. By the end of the day, we both were caked in sweat. Our clothes clung to our bodies and our fringe stuck to our faces. The sun was just about to set when we started talking about what tomorrow would bring. It wasn't as uplifting as the activities we had engaged in until now.

Jack promised that we would still see each other, that he would try to visit at least once a week. He said it wasn't far. I mentioned it was too far to walk from each other's houses. He laughed at that, but sadly, he agreed. By the time we got back to my house, my dad was already home. He told me it was time for Jack to leave, that his mother was already on her way to pick her up. When she arrived, Jack and I said our farewells.

Jack didn't visit as much as he promised he would. He blamed most of it on homework. I believed him. He tried to see me every weekend, but that grew to every other weekend. One October day, my dad and I had an unexpected visitor. At first, when I heard the knock, I thought it would be Jack. I ran to the door and threw it open to find a large man with only two limbs. The other two were prosthetic ones that looked like he made himself. My father introduced him as Gobber. I found out he was a friend from Scotland whom my dad had been keeping in contact through letters. I could only assume by how they spoke with each other that they were old high school friends.

The first time I really saw Jack for more than a day was for his 15th birthday. I was the only one invited to the party, lucky for me, and I stayed so late that his mother offered for me to just stay the night. Jack and I, even though we were both boys, stayed up as late as we could just talking. He told me all about his high school life. He mentioned the classmates he had and the teachers, telling me who to avoid at all costs if I ever went to his high school.

He introduced me to video games that night. Though I wasn't a big fan of them, I had to admit, playing them with Jack was a lot more fun than I ever thought it would be. I remember laughing and joking around with him, even though I sucked at them. He teased me a bit about that, but I always came back with sarcastic remarks that he would laugh at. At about midnight, his mother came in to scold us about how loud we were being. She told us to turn off the system.

He did. But only until he was sure she was sleeping. Once he was sure, he turned it back on and we continued again. Only this time, we were quiet with our laughter and taunts. We ended up passing out around five o'clock, controllers still in our hands. When we awoke a few hours later, we were in for a large surprise. Something that we wouldn't ever forget. I was between his legs when I woke up, curled up with my head against his chest and his arms around me. Jack leaned against the headboard.

We both tensed when we looked to each other. I remember feeling his breath on my cheek, we were so close. After realizing our position, we both were flustered. He released me and I pulled away, crawling out of his grasp. We both stuttered apologies. We couldn't meet each other's gazes for about an hour after that. We could only share glances at the breakfast table. (Pancakes. Mm.) His mother asked us what was wrong, asked us if we had a fight, and Jack reassured her that we didn't, just that we were tired. I agreed. She didn't seem to quite believe it.

I went home only a few hours later. I caught up on sleep at home and went to school the next day. Jack's visits became less and less frequent, but each time, we would spend hours upon hours just hanging out, to the point where he left for home well into the night. Unfortunately, due to some family troubles, Jack couldn't make it to my 14th birthday. I spent it alone with my dad. It began to warm up come May and I decided to explore the woods once again, this time by myself. It had been two weeks since Jack's last visit.

That's where I met my second true friend. Another one who accepted me for who I am. As I strode through the woods, I noticed something was off. There were odd tracks in the mud. Confused, I followed them. They lead me straight to a large black dog. He lifted his head and pulled back his ears. He bared his teeth in a menacing growl. I stood frozen. I don't know what I was thinking. I lowered myself to my knees and sat on the balls of my feet. I held out my hand. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a friend," I spoke softly. The dog stood and took off.

The next day, I came back. This time, with a large piece of beef jerky. I searched for the tracks. I found them right when I was about to give up. I carefully walked down the makeshift path. It lead me to a clearing. But I found nothing. The tracks ended there. I frowned and scanned the area. Nothing. My shoulders sagged. Then I heard something heavy drop down from the rock behind me. I heard a growl. My muscles tensed. I turned around and sure enough, there was the dog, watching me with green eyes.

I held out the piece of beef jerky, cautious. He edged forward. I knelt down slowly. He stopped moving and growled, but continued on when I stopped moving completely. He took the beef jerky and took off a few feet away. There, he chowed it down. I smiled a lopsided smile of glee. He trusted me enough to actually eat it out of my hand! He couldn't have been wild. That's when the glint of a metal object caught my eye. There was a tag hanging around his neck, by a dark brown collar hidden by his fur.

He stepped forward, nose sniffing. "Ah, I, uh," I stammered as I backed away. I tripped over my own feet and fell to my bum. I crawled along the ground until my back pressed against a tree at the edge of the clearing. "I don't have anymore," I managed to whisper. He ignored me. He lowered his nose to the hand curled before my chest; my left hand. The one that had held the jerky. I held my breath. I didn't know what I expected to happen. But I surely didn't expect the dog to suddenly start licking the juices off my fingers. I tried to reach out to pet him. He growled and shot back, running off to the other edge of the clearing.

I spent the rest of the day trying to earn the dog's trust. He stayed in the clearing, surprisingly, not caring if I was there or not. He clearly didn't see me as a threat. Eventually, I had won his trust to the point where he allowed me to touch him. I stood there in the middle of the clearing, with one hand reached out to him. At first, he didn't move. I looked away. After a moment, he pressed his head against my palm. I stroked his fur for a moment and moved my hand down to his neck, to the collar. I read the tag. My expression turned to confusion. "Toothless? But you have..." My voice trailed off as a jaw lightly gripped at my hand. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but I pulled my hand away. "Teeth," I finished. When I finally got ready to leave, he wanted to follow me as I tried to exit the clearing. When I looked back, his head tilted and his tail swayed. "No, I can't take you with me. Dad won't let you inside," I spoke quietly. The dog sat down, his head lowering and his ears pulling back. I apologized and left quickly.

Each day I came back, I would bring a bag of food with me, usually meats. About a week after I met Toothless, Jack finally was able to visit. I wanted him to meet my new friend. It didn't go as well as I planned. When we first got into the clearing, Toothless bared his teeth and snarled at the stranger. "No, no, it's okay!" I reassured with my palms toward the large dog. Jack tried to push himself in front of me and I shoved him back. I glanced to him. The growling ceased. "It's okay. He's a friend." I looked back to the dog and repeated it. Toothless settled down.

It took all day, but the two became well-acquainted. I was glad. These two were my friends now, the both of them. Jack was my best friend and this dog... Toothless... He was certainly on his way. He liked to stay near me, I realized. He had followed me home without me knowing about it. My father was furious. He yelled at me to take it back where I had found it, or at least call someone to come pick it up. I remember yelling back, telling him that Toothless didn't have an owner. I had searched the whole town for posters of the dog. I had even asked around. Nobody even knew who I was talking about.

In June, a month after I had met Toothless, my fate changed for the worse. Toothless, Jack, and I were wandering the woods. I had a stick in my hand, which I used to swat at a few bushes we walked past.

"I think he's an Akita," Jack spoke up. Toothless and I looked to him.

"Akita? What's that?"

Jack shrugged. "It's a kind of dog from Japan. Same group as a Shiba Inu. They're said to be really smart and understand what you're saying. But they're like a cat and won't listen to you," he explained.

I nodded as though I understood, looking over at Toothless. He continued to walk beside us. He stopped and sniffed every now and then, but nothing warned him of what would happen. We were upwind of the creature.

I had been swatting at a random bush, just lightly hitting it, when I suddenly felt Jack tugging at my sleeve. He began whispering my name, urgency in his tone. Curious and confused, I looked to him. A dark shadow fell over him. I followed his wide-eyed gaze. I felt Toothless brush against my leg. My face paled as my eyes took in the sight before me.

It was a large black bear.

I had heard reports of a bear roaming the area a few weeks ago, but I had long forgotten about them. Now that memory came flooding back. The stick fell from my hand. The bear turned. My heart stopped.

A loud roar echoed through the woods.

"RUN!" Jack screamed as he took off toward the houses.

I followed as quick as I could, calling for Toothless to follow. Heavy thumps followed not far behind. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I let out a scream as my foot caught on a tree root. I fell face-first down to the ground. When I looked up, I could see Jack's back, his shoulders turning as he skidded to a halt. I heard a deafening roar behind me. I threw myself on my back just in time to avoid a large claw that swung down, embedding itself instead in the ground beside me. My breath escaped my lips in ragged gasps as I stared at it with wide eyes. A dark shadow darted around me and stood before me.

Toothless.

He growled loudly with his fur on end. He took on a defensive stance as the bear stood up straight. I remember that it felt like forever until something actually happened, with Jack tugging at my arm. I allowed him to help me to my feet just as the fight broke out. Toothless lunged at the large creature, teeth bared as he snarled menacingly. They dug deep into the bear's fur.

I shoved Jack away as he tried to pull me away from the fight. There was no way I was going to just leave Toothless there, not when he fought so hard to protect me. I had to do something for him, too. I took out the small knife my father had given to me for my birthday. It wasn't anything much. It was something to protect myself, he had told me. I charged at the bear, with Jack yelling at me to stop and just run. I plunged it into the bear all the way to the hilt. It let out a bellow and turned its attention to me. Next thing I knew, I was flying through the air. The bear had hit my side with a paw and, due to my small weight, had sent me flying. I let out a shout of pain as I collided with a tree, bouncing to the ground.

Dazed, I stood. The knife had been pulled out of the bear when it hit me, my grip was so tight on it. I charged again. A large paw swatted down toward me. I dodged it. I thought it was just in time. I heard Jack scream my name, saw him running toward me. He had a stick in his hand. Not the best weapon, but it was indication that he, too, would fight. Maybe with our numbers, the bear would back off, I remember thinking to myself.

I tried to stand, but a very acute pain shot up my left leg, causing me to let out a cry and fall to the ground. I looked to my leg. The pants I wore were soaked with blood. I hadn't dodged the bear as fast as I thought I did, and the wound was bleeding heavily. The claw had cut deep. Face pale, I looked to the bear as it focused its attention on Toothless, who went for its neck. The dog seemed to be unhurt. He was fast and calculating, able to assess a situation in only milliseconds.

But even he was not fast enough to avoid being flung when the bear suddenly shook violently, casting the dog aside. The bear looked to me again, nose twitching. It smelled blood. I tried to scramble away, Jack coming into my peripheral view. Neither Toothless nor Jack were close enough to help me. I forced myself to stand, backing away as fast as I could, limping all the way. I wasn't fast enough. The bear took another swing. The claw caught my side and helped throw me toward the nearest tree. I remember pain blooming on the side of my head, and then darkness clouding my vision before I hit the ground.

When I awoke, I was lying in the hospital bed. Jack was asleep in the chair next to me. From what my dad told me, he had been there nearly the whole time. From his mother, I learned that he hardly ever went home, that he refused to do so until visiting hours were over. He was there for a whole week while I slept silently in the hospital bed. Gobber, my father, and Jack all admitted they were worried I wouldn't wake up. I lost a lot of blood in the time that it took for Jack to carry me back out of the woods and to the hospital. I was a minute shy of passing away, at the young age of 14. If Jack had been any slower, the doctors told me, I would not have made it.

But not all of me made it. I lost a portion of my left leg that day. It lost too much blood to be recovered and had to be amputated. They were going to put a prosthetic leg on themselves, but Gobber insisted on using one of his own, saying that it worked just as well and didn't look as tacky as a fake foot.

I was never ashamed of my lost leg. It felt odd for a while not to have it, but I grew used to it. It was just another thing to define me, just as my name was. Like my name, I 'adopted' this into my life as well. Jack, however, took it hard. For weeks, he blamed it on himself. He kept saying "If I had been faster..." or "If I just picked you up and carried you off..." everytime he saw it. It took me weeks to assure him that it wasn't his fault, that it was my decision to stay and fight. I told him that I couldn't lose Toothless, that he was a friend as well. Finally, he accepted that it wasn't his fault. Outwardly, anyway. It would take him a while longer until he realized I was truly fine with my new leg.

Despite my leg and the pain it brought to walk on it at first, I started up school again. I was enrolled into a high school, but to my dismay, Jack wasn't there. Thankfully, I had been placed in many of the same classes as Astrid. And, because some of the teachers seated us alphabetically by last name, I earned my desk right by hers. Astrid grew curious of my new leg. She asked me how I got it. I told her the story about the bear and Toothless. She, of course, didn't believe me. I let it go. If I had learned anything about this girl, it was that she was a hard one to convince. I would need the help of someone else.

And that someone else transferred in come November.

Jack had surprised me by transferring to my high school. He couldn't be placed in any of my classes due to me being a freshman and he a sophomore. (The classes had separate classes for freshmen. Upper grades were allowed to mix, but until freshman were used to the school, they were separated from the rest.) But we did hang out during lunch the best we could, just as we always had.

It wasn't long before Jack found out about my crush on Astrid. Apparently, I had begun staring at her from afar more and more often and he just followed my gaze. Or so he told me. He began helping me out. He told Astrid the full story of what happened, and even mentioned that she could ask my father or Gobber about it and they would say the exact same thing; that I lost my leg to a bear. He even said that he would bring in Toothless, who was now allowed to stay in my room due to my father's gratitude for him protecting me, to prove to her that there was a dog such as him.

He didn't stop just there. He helped me other things as well. He told me exactly how I could appeal to a girl like her, despite how weak and small I was. (Clearly, he said, she was one who went for stronger men.) I followed his advice. In only a few weeks, Astrid and I went from strangers, to friends, to close friends, to boyfriend and girlfriend. Me asking her out wasn't the bravest thing I have done in my life. In fact, I couldn't even get the words out. I remember trying to ask her during lunch, my eyes wandering, my hands swaying, and my words coming out as rambling. When she had enough of my shy attitude, she grabbed me by the collar, kissed me, and said 'yes'.

Jack teased me relentlessly for days, though he also mentioned that he was happy for me. Something told me that while his words were true and he certainly did seem happy, he was hiding something else inside. I tried to figure it out, but he hid it well, to the point where I begun to doubt myself. I shrugged it off.

I invited Astrid over to my house for Christmas dinner with my father, for her own family had eaten a large dinner the night before. (He found out about me gaining a girlfriend and wanted to meet her.) I sat and ate quietly while the two chatted away. Somehow, I felt as though I didn't belong there.

Astrid and I lasted until mid-March, on a Friday. I found myself not wanting to be around her as much as a couple should be. We hardly ever did anything that established us as a couple. And frankly, I didn't really like how she liked to punch my arm. It was cute at first, but eventually, it just grew tiresome and I was sure I was forming a bruise. I don't exactly like pain. I never have. It's usually something I want to avoid.

Thankfully, the feeling was mutual. She, too, held no feelings for me. We broke it off, but continued to stay good friends. She, Jack, and I would still hang out during lunch and sometimes after school, we would still walk around town with Toothless by our side. By that time, Jack (16 now) could drive. His mother had bought him a cheap used car that he could drive to and from school, so he used that for days he planned on hanging out with us. His visits became more and more frequent in the time Astrid and I were dating.

A few days after Astrid and I broke up, Jack and I had our real first fight.

My father was away on a Monday and I had invited Jack over. I did invite Astrid too, but she declined, saying that she had to run some errands for her mother. I let her go. Jack and I were sitting on opposite ends of the bed, tossing a ball back and forth between each other as a sort of game. (We couldn't find anything else to do.) Toothless lay on the dog bed I had bought for him, asleep. Or at least, we thought he was asleep. We could never tell with him.

Jack wore a teasing grin as he tossed the ball to me. "Have you two kissed yet?"

I tossed the ball back. "Huh?"

He rolled his eyes and passed it back to me. "You and Astrid, Hic. Have you kissed yet? It's been, what, four months now?"

I pursed my lips as I returned the ball, my eyes venturing to the bed. He held the ball still for a moment and asked again. I shook my head as I caught the ball. I tossed it back. "No," I answered at last. "Astrid and I broke up."

He caught the ball. His smile was gone. "What do you mean, you broke up?"

I let my hands drop to my lap. Jack wasn't going to throw the ball. I shrugged. "Just... We broke up."

"When did this happen?" He eyed me carefully as he lowered the ball to the bed.

I shrugged again. "Ah, you know. A few days ago," I admitted. I avoided looking into his eyes. I could tell he was frowning, even without looking at him.

"And you didn't tell me?"

I leaned back against the headboard, careful not to upset the hand-sewn dragon plushie resting in the inverted arc. "I didn't think you'd care."

"Of course I'd care if Astrid broke up with you!"

I was surprised by his sudden outburst. I looked to him. He was indeed frowning, but there was no anger to be seen. That would come later. "She didn't break up with me," I corrected.

"What?"

"I broke up with her."

He looked just as surprised as I was when he suddenly shouted. "What? Why? Why would you do that?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. It only irritated Jack. "I just didn't feel anything for her," I spoke.

His frown deepened. He chose his words carefully. "What do you mean... you didn't feel anything for her?"

"I just don't," I answered. "I thought I liked her, but apparently not."

I was sure by now that Jack's frown was permanently etched into his face. It wouldn't be going away anytime soon. He thrusted a hand toward me. "You couldn't stop talking about her!" Toothless lifted his head, his ears raised to the commotion.

I sighed. "Jack, it was just a silly crush. Don't make such a big deal about it," I spoke calmly. It only pissed Jack off more.

"A silly crush? Are you out of your mind?" He stood from the bed. Toothless watched him carefully. "You've been pining over this girl for two years now! Two years, Hiccup!"

It was my turn to frown. "I was wrong. I realized that. Why aren't you?"

He ran a hand through his hair. He began pacing. "So you just threw it all _away_? Just like that?"

I huffed. "I didn't throw it away!" My voice was louder than I anticipated. I took in a deep breath and let it out. "I thought about this for days, Jack. I thought about it before I broke up with her. Astrid isn't the girl I thought she was. She's a good friend. But it doesn't feel right to be with her."

He crossed his arms. "I still don't understand how you magically just don't care for her."

I pushed myself off the bed. Metal clinked against the wooden floors. I glared hard at Jack, at my best friend. "I don't understand why you're so upset about this!" I retorted without missing a beat. I glanced to Toothless as I heard a soft growl. I motioned for him to stay where he was.

Jack ignored the growl. He seemed not to notice it as he stepped closer to me. "Because _I_ was the one who helped you through it!" he snapped back, placing a hand on his chest. "I know you're not one to just... give up on something, just like that! You finally got her, after years of wanting to be with her, and you just dump her. What the hell, Hiccup?"

"_Why_ do you care so much?"

He stepped closer to me. I stood my ground. His face was inches away from mine. "Because I helped you get her and you threw it away like it was nothing!" he shouted back.

I couldn't help but to glare. Anger boiled within me, anger at being yelled at for doing something I wanted to. For being scolded about my own decisions. "And why _did_ you help me?" My voice was deadly calm at first, rising in tone the more I spoke, "I didn't ask for your help in the first place, Jack!"

He snapped. He looked directly into my eyes. "Because I wanted you to be happy, damnit!"

I stood motionless. No sound left my lips. I could see something within those brown eyes. Something more than what he was letting on.

He groaned in aggravation and turned away, pacing the room again. When he stopped, I noticed his hands were balled into fists and trembling. He refused to look at me, instead glaring daggers at the ground. "I wanted to make you happy, alright? You were crazy about that girl. I thought that if I helped you get her, you'd be happier. I thought you'd be happy with her," he explained.

I eyed him skeptically. I could tell there was something more to this. Something in Jack's eyes, the way he stood, the light colour on his cheeks... They all told me there were more to his words. I pressed on, my voice surprisingly calm. "Why do you care so much, Jack?" I asked again. "You're hiding something."

He shot a glare at me, but redirected his gaze once more to the floorboards. I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he gritted his teeth. "Tch. Why do you have to be such a blind idiot?" he grumbled, loud enough for it to reach my ears.

I frowned. I was neither of those. "What do you mean by that?" I pressed on.

"Damnit, Hiccup!" Jack stepped toward me. The anger in his eyes overflowed as they bore down into my own. He reached out and grasped the collar of my shirt with both hands, tugging me forward. I could feel his breath on my skin. From this close, I could see pain in his eyes, underneath all the anger. "You are such a dense moron! You really think I would go through all that trouble just to make you happy? I'm in love with you! _That's_ why I worked so hard to help you win Astrid over!" he snapped.

His words echoed through the house in the silence that followed. I stood there in shock, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. I couldn't believe it. Jackson Overland, my best friend, the one who had accepted me for who I was from day one, was in love with me. _This_ was what he had been hiding. I stumbled back when he suddenly shoved me away. Thankfully, I kept my balance. He turned and strode away, footsteps heavy against the floor.

"Ever since I met you, you were... different," I could hear him mumble. His whole body trembled. Whether it was from anger or something else, I still don't know to this very day.

"How long?" My tone was flat.

He turned to look at me, confusion on his face. "What?"

I stepped forward, eyebrows drawn together. "How long did you keep this a secret from me?" I sounded a lot angrier than I felt. I felt as though I was calming, but my tone said otherwise. I was only growing angrier and angrier. But by this point, I just didn't realize it.

His shoulders tensed as he backed a step away. "Three years," he answered in a quiet voice. His eyes turned to the window. "I realized it when I was thirteen." The anger had fallen from his voice.

Another silence overtook the room. It hung around us like a thick cloud, suffocating the both of us. I dipped my head, glaring at the floor. "Get out." My voice was quiet. Deadly quiet. The tone was flat. Though my head was down, my eyes focused on Jack again.

Jack looked at me with surprise and fear. I didn't realize it then, but when I look back on it, I remember seeing tears form in his eyes. I had hurt him. I still can't imagine how much it must have hurt. The anger in him fled completely in that one moment, leaving only an icy sadness.

"GET OUT!"

He bolted. My bedroom door was left wide open. I stood shaking in anger as I heard the front door slam closed below. I feel shame whenever I think about this moment in my life, even more so now. I regret ever screaming at him. I wasn't angry at him for loving me. I was angry that he kept it from me for so many years. Best friends weren't supposed to keep secrets. Especially not ones as important as that. Not when those kinds of feelings were returned in the first place. From that day, Jack hardly even looked at me. He avoided me in the hallways. He always snuck off campus during lunch to who-knows-where. He never walked me home. Whenever he passed close enough for me to actually see him, I could tell there were bags under his eyes. He was having troubles sleeping.

Astrid was the first to ask what was wrong, why Jack never sat with us after her and I broke up. I told her exactly what happened. Even the part about Jack falling in love with me three years ago. I eventually realized, after speaking with her, that I, too, harbored those same feelings. I know of it now, but back then, I rejected the very thought of that being the reason why I had no true feelings for Astrid. She figured it out just by the way I spoke about him, the way I looked at him, she told me. The way that even though I was dating her, I always wanted to hang out with Jack.

After nearly a full month of Jack avoiding me, I finally gave in. Things needed to change. I was beginning to miss having Jack by my side. I missed hearing him laugh and joke around. I missed the playful taunts. I took the bus to his neighbourhood. I hardly ever went to his house, but I could recall the exact directions. I took them. I arrived at his door and knocked. I was greeted with a cheerful hello from Jack, but it soon vanished as he realized who it was. The door swung toward me. I stopped it with my prosthetic leg. I glared hard at him as he peeked through the gap my iron foot gave. "Jack, we need to talk."

He quietly exited the house and I lead him toward the forest surrounding his small town of Burgettstown. I didn't lead him far. Just far enough to be hidden away from prying ears and eyes. Once I was satisfied with the distance, I turned to face him.

He was the first to try to speak. "Hiccup, look... I can expla-"

I cut him off. I rushed forward and encircled his waist with my arms, resting my head on his chest. He stumbled back a few steps as our bodies collided. I followed. He didn't know how to react. I could feel his chest pause as he held his breath. I only held on tighter, my fingers grasping at his jacket, the blue jacket he had picked up wearing a few months ago. He loved that thing. "You're an idiot, Jack," I grunted. "Do you really think I'd be that angry at you for falling in love with me? You don't choose who you fall in love with."

His breath picked up again. Cautiously, his arms wrapped around me. "Does that mean...?"

"No," I replied sarcastically. "I love Toothless. He's the best dog anyone could ask for. I brought you out here to ask you permission for me to marry him."

He laughed. I couldn't help but to feel extreme joy at just the sound of it. His grip tightened around me and he buried his face into my hair. "That's the Hiccup I fell in love with..." I heard him whisper.

Jack and I became a couple soon after that. We, however, didn't make it official. Astrid did. She teased us often (though out of good fun, mind you) and the word soon just spread in the school. Hiccup the Useless dated Jack Overland the Hottie, as the girls called the both of us. Or at least, that's what I could gather. We did get a few people who sneered at us when we walked past, but Jack would just drape an arm around me, intertwine our hands, and kiss my head to show that he didn't care what others thought. I, on the other hand, felt rather awkward with the public displays of affection that Jack loved so much.

Apparently, he thought it was cute. Whenever I would comment on it, he would only do it more. He would hold me from behind with his arms wrapped around my waist, or he would walk with an arm around my shoulder or waist, or he would kiss my cheek as both a greeting and a temporary farewell. He even picked up walking me home again, though he wasn't as outward with our relationship as he was at school. He and I both feared how my father would react if he were to find out.

Despite all the public displays of affection, Jack and I didn't have our first kiss until a month in. Astrid was away for a family gathering, so Jack and I hung out in the library for lunch. We sat in the corner, away from all the other students. He spoke softly and just watched as I drew with a charcoal pencil in a sketchbook he had bought me. He would make comments on the drawing every now and then, but he would mostly make observations. Such as how many freckles were on my hand, or the fact that I was left-handed. Once, he had asked if my hair got in the way of my vision. I told him that it hardly did, that I was used to it being this long.

After a moment of silence, I looked to him. He was staring directly at me. My breath caught in my throat as a sudden urge tried to overtake me. The urge to kiss him. I didn't act on that urge. Jack did. My heart pounded so hard, I thought it would burst right out of my chest. Judging by the slight colour of Jack's cheeks, his did as well. He lifted his hand and stroked back some of my hair, pressing a palm against my cheek. He pulled me forward. Our eyes closed and our lips met for the first time. It sent sparks of joy coursing through my body.

His lips were slightly cool against my own, but not cold. They felt... nice. He pulled away from the gentle kiss, but our noses still brushed. Our breath danced on each other's lips. My hand gripped at my pencil so tightly, I thought it would break. I leaned forward and softly kissed him again. It was a light brush, a bit shorter than the previous one, but still as loving as the first. When we pulled away, he gave me an amused smile and murmured, "Your freckles are even cuter up close." I frowned and pushed his face away, turning back to my drawing as he laughed.

Our first true date was near the beginning of July. He took me out for some ice-cream. It was a rather short date because he had been hired as a part time cashier, but it was still nice. We sat in the park, ice-cream cones in hand, and ate as we just spoke of random topics. One thing he did mention was that he found my clumsiness to be cute. I frowned at this, but then decided to get him back. With a smirk, I responded in a dry tone, "And I love how smart you are. Why, I could have never thought to reach my hand down a dark hole to grab my bag when there was a hooked stick sitting right there next to me." He laughed at this and tried to defend himself. I merely just turned back to my ice-cream, letting my victory sink in. (He had once dropped my bag down a crevice between two rocks. Instead of using the stick he carried around, shaped like a shepherd's stick, to grab it, he decided to reach down into the hole and get his hand stuck. I had to waste my water pouring it on his hand to help him slip out.)

My father found out about us about a year later, the next summer. I had invited Jack over when I thought he would be late from work that day. He surprised me by walking in to see us kissing, with me lying down on the bed and Jack straddling me. (Don't get me wrong, clothes were still on and there weren't any wandering hands. Jack respected my boundaries and understood that I didn't want to go that far yet.) There was no way out of it, no excuses that could be made. We were so caught up in our own little world that we hadn't heard the front door open or the footsteps come up the steps. We only heard the bedroom door swing open. And by then, it was too late.

Dad disowned me right then and there. His exact words were, "Pack up and leave. You aren't a Haddock. You aren't my son." He left me to do the packing. I didn't have much, but what I did have, Jack quietly helped me pack. I tried my best not to cry as I threw everything I owned into the chest and into a suitcase I retrieved from the closet. I felt numb. My hands were trembling and my stomach twisted in knots. The only relief from it I felt was a slight relief when Jack told me I could stay with him, that his mother already knew of us. I thanked him for it and we finished packing.

I called for Toothless to follow and we left the house, putting everything into the back of Jack's car. My dad stood on the doorstep, watching as I climbed into the car. Toothless jumped into the back seat and laid down there. I looked out the window. My father shook his head and went back inside, slamming the door closed behind him before we even left. I closed my eyes in defeat and laid my head back against the headrest of the car seat.

Neither Jack nor I spoke a single word as we drove to Burgettstown. I was only sixteen, and I was kicked out of my own house. I was thankful to have someone who could help me. When Jack told his mother of what happened, she embraced me and whispered her apologies. She told me that she would pay for my school and she would let me stay for as long as I needed. I thanked her with a smile. That night, after getting everything into Jack's room, I silently cried myself to sleep in Jack's arms, lying on his bed. I had been holding it in all day, and I just couldn't anymore. My father was the only family I had left, after my mother had passed away. Now, I only had Jack.

There was some good that came out of it. I was finally able to attend one of Emma's birthday parties, her 10th birthday. I congratulated her and drew her a picture of a pond surrounded by trees that she wanted as her present. I came to know the girl a lot better. Due to never really visiting Jack's place, I hadn't got to know the little girl. But once I did, I grew as fond of her as Jack was. She was cute, I had to admit. She certainly had some good tastes in activities. Before, I thought she would be like any other girl; loved to play with dolls, had a cell phone she carried around all the time, the whole bit. But as I came to find out, Emma was the outdoorsy type, just like her brother. I often found myself exploring the woods near their house. They even lead me to a pond they loved to skate on when winter came. I found out that they never really visited it in the summer, for Jack had never learned to swim.

In August, I let down my boundaries. I had been staying with the Overlands for two months. Which meant I stayed in Jack's room, with only one bed. A twin-sized, that that. (They didn't have the money to buy a bigger one, though they promised they would once their income tax came in. I didn't mind it, though.) Needless to say, you can't keep the sex drives of two boys under control for long, especially if they were in love with each other. I won't go over the details of what happened. I feel that it isn't something something I should be writing down on paper or telling about.

It was spurred while everyone else was away, watching a movie in the theater. Jack and I had decided to stay home, for neither of us were too interested in watching a movie with that kind of plot. (Chick flick.) We were just lying on the bed, laughing and talking, when all of a sudden we just started kissing. I ended up on my back with Jack hovering over me, my hands entangled in his hair. I remember small moans escaping both of us as we kissed each other deeply, the moans forming into pants as we continued. Our kisses became heated and rough, tongues dancing together and sliding against each other.

Before we got too far, Jack stopped for a moment to look at me. His eyes silently questioned me, asking if it was really okay to continue. As I stated before, he respected my boundaries. I smiled at him. That was enough confirmation for him. Our kisses and touches escalated until clothes were discarded to the floor - and oh dear gods, this is starting to become hard to write down. It's a very... difficult subject for me to be talking about, I apologize. I remember every little detail of it. I remember the touches, the kisses, the moans, our names whispered by each other. So long as I allow it, I will never let myself forget the first time he and I slept together.

After we were both finished, I remember lying there, our breath coming out heavily. I faced away from him on the small bed and he held me from behind, his arm wrapped around my waist and his hand intertwined with mine. Both of our faces, illuminated by the light of the moon, wore the clear signs of an afterglow. Our first afterglow. He kissed my shoulder and I gave him a reassuring squeeze. Our breath evened out and I began to drift off to sleep. His counting stirred me.

"One, two, three, four, five, six..."

I opened my eyes. I realized what he was counting. My freckles. I groaned and closed them again. "Jack," I warned groggily. Truth be told, I was self-concious of my freckles. I hated them. I always thought they were too distracting.

Jack was silent for a moment. I relaxed. "Seven..."

I groaned again. I grabbed the pillow and, as he continued to count the little freckles dotting my skin, I threw my arm back and smacked him with the pillow. He laughed and squeezed my middle. His counting ceased and I put the pillow back under my head. "They're cute," I heard him whisper.

I rolled my eyes under my eyelids. Something cold fell against my shoulder. I reached back to grab it. My fingers traced the outline. It was the necklace I had given him for his 13th birthday, four years ago. I smiled and let my hand fall away. "You still wear that?"

"Of course. Until the day I die," he answered as I fell victim to sleep.

Jack and I decided to visit Pittsburgh when October came around. I wanted to visit Astrid and hang out with her a bit. Jack agreed. We stood waiting at a crosswalk near the apartment where Astrid and her mother lived. It turned green. I began walking across, not bothering to look to make sure nobody ran a red light. I heard Jack scream my name. Then I heard a loud screeching of tires. Time slowed as I looked to my right. My breath caught in my throat. There, in the middle of the intersection, was a sports car, driving much too fast. He must have been going at least twenty miles over the speed limit. I would not have the time to run out of the way, even if I tried. I wouldn't gain enough speed to be clear of them.

Someone grabbed my arm in a death grip. I was tugged backward. I watched as the car, swerving to the side, avoided colliding with me within only a foot. My leg, which had been outstretched as I was walking, was the only thing that was hit. I trembled as I felt arms tightly wrap around me, pulling me back. I nearly stumbled at the loss of the prosthetic leg, clinging onto the fabric of a blue jacket to avoid falling. The car screeched to a complete halt. I could hear people talking all around me, but I could hear none of it as I sat there, trembling in Jack's arms. He held me up as he pulled me back to the safety of the sidewalk. I could see my prosthetic leg smashed to pieces on the street. That could have been me, I thought.

A large man jumped out of his car, stopped at the stoplight the speeding driver should have stopped at. Jack didn't notice him. I did. I watched with wide eyes as my father ran toward me, leaving his car door open. Jack asked me if I was okay just as the speeding driver took off again. I looked to him, still trembling. I didn't trust myself to speak. I nodded. Overwhelming delight took over Jack's features as he embraced me, pulling me close. I balanced carefully on my only leg as I returned the hug. My father slowed to a stop right beside us. That's when Jack noticed him.

He supported me as my father looked me over. We both remained dead silent. I held my breath. My dad placed his hands on both of my shoulders. Concern was the only thing held in his eyes. "Son, are you okay?"

To this day, I still cannot convey how happy I was to hear the word 'son' come from his lips once more, even with the terror of nearly being killed. I beamed, my hand grasping onto Jack for support. Jack, too, smiled.

My father had accepted me back into his life. Because Jack had put himself at risk to save my life, my dad realized that it was okay for me to love someone who wasn't female. Or maybe he had just thought it over, and this was what tipped the scale completely. I'll never know. But I do know is that he invited me back home, saying I could move in again. I looked to Jack. He told me that as long as I visited, I could move back in with my father. I did just that.

I kept my word. I continued to visit Jack. More like, I kept inviting him over whenever he had the chance. Every day off of work, he would rush to come see me. Sometimes, he'd even visit before or after work.

On December 5th, 2011, he invited me and Astrid over to hang out with him and his sister. His sister wanted to go skate on the pond, for it had finally frozen over completely. I agreed. I took my sketchpad with me, knowing I wouldn't be able to skate on the pond. Astrid, taking pity on me, sat beside me as I sketched and drew. My eyes wandered to Jack and Emma often, watching as they laughed and played. He skated circles around her and lead her around. He had brought that stick with him, the one he always liked to carry around when they went to the woods. He used it to help turn better, letting Emma borrow it whenever she wanted.

My joy faded instantly at the sound of the ice cracking. My smile vanished and my head snapped up from my drawing of Jack and his sister. Emma stood in the middle of the pond, the ice cracking below her feet. I watched as Jack held out his hands, worry twisting at my insides. Astrid ran off to get help. But it was a long walk from here to there - and back. I didn't know if she would make it in time. Emma might be through the ice by then. "It's okay, it's okay. Don't look down. Just look at me," he spoke reassuringly as he removed his skates

"Jack, I'm scared," Emma whimpered as she looked to her brother. She trembled lightly where she stood. She looked down. The ice began to crack more below her.

"I know, I know," Jack answered. He carefully stood and took a step forward.

My eyes flicked to his feet as I heard the ice crack more. They were beginning to form under his feet, too. "Jack," I warned.

He glanced to me and rose a hand to silence me, tossing me a reassuring smile. I quieted. He turned his attention back to his sister. "But you're gonna be alright. You're not gonna fall in." He looked to be thinking. "Uh..." He met his sister's gaze. "We're gonna have a little fun instead!"

"No, we're not!" Emma whined. I agreed. I stood from where I was. I wanted to go out to help, but I knew I couldn't. My extra weight, little as it is, and my leg would only break the ice further. I had to stay here, I told myself.

"Would I trick you?" Jack moved forward.

"Yes! You always play tricks!"

He forced a laugh. "Well, n-n-not this time," he stuttered. "I promise, I promise you. It's gonna be... You're gonna be fine."

Somehow, I doubted that. I looked around for anything I could grab. I could hear Jack and Emma talking and moving around on the ice. I silently cursed myself as I found nothing that could help the two. Each crack of the ice sent my eyes flicking to the siblings. They were still there, I told myself. They were fine. Neither of them had fallen in.

Suddenly, I heard a thud. I looked over to see that Jack and Emma had switched places. Except, Emma had slid over to the more solid, stable part of the ice. Jack was near the cracked ice. My face paled and I stepped to the edge of the pond. My heart pounded in my chest. Jack smiled in a proud way as he looked to his sister. She smiled back.

He took a step forward.

The ice shattered beneath him. I screamed his name in unison with Emma as he plunged into the icy cold water. I stepped forward, but stopped myself. I hesitated near the edge. I would only make things worse. "Emma, get back over here!" I shouted. The girl skated over to me and I quickly pulled her off the ice. I heard Astrid calling my name. I turned to her. My hands trembled as she ran up to me, followed by a group of men. Rescue workers. "Jack's under the ice!"

The men got to work. I stood on the snow, watching with worry gnawing at my gut. They managed to pull him out after a few minutes. He wasn't moving. They pulled him to the side of the pond and I rushed over to them, pushing my way through. One of the men performed CPR. They held his nose and breathed into his mouth, then pressed on his chest. They repeated it. And again. And again. They repeated it until I counted ten tries. By that time, I had already collapsed to my knees. The voices were mere murmurs, background noises. The man shook his head solemnly.

Tears leaked from my eyes. They felt warm against my cold cheeks. They dripped from my jaw. I stared numbly at the body of the boy I loved. My chest felt as though someone had reached inside and took a hold of my heart, squeezing it with all the strength they had. I could not hear the voices around me and I couldn't feel the hand rubbing my back. All I could see was the still boy before me. My hand reached out to touch the soft cheek I had grown so accustomed to kissing when we were alone. His skin was as cold as ice. My fingers slipped from his cheek, wet with water, as the body was pulled away. I watched as his head hung back limply, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. His arms and legs dangled lifelessly.

Do you remember how I stated that there was only one time that I had cried as hard as I had at my mother's funeral? This was that second time. Astrid pulled me away from the men and held me close. I watched over her arm as the men took Jack away. It took a few moments for it to sink in, for me to realize that I had just lost the one most important to me. But once it did, it hit hard. I don't remember for how long I cried, but I remember clinging onto Astrid's clothes as I wailed in her arms. She stroked my hair and rocked back and forth in an effort to calm me, but alas, it did not. I only cried harder. I whispered Jack's name over and over. The whispers turned to screams, muffled by Astrid's clothes. We fell to our knees and she held me even closer, her head resting on mine. I could feel her own tears soaking into my hair. Memories of Jack flowed through my mind, from the day we met all the way up until now. It only made more tears fall.

Jackson Overland, my best friend, my lover, my everything, had slipped away right before my eyes. I had many memories of him, and they would be memories I would cherish forever. I only hope that one day, we will be reunited. I know I'll never find anyone quite like Jack.

It's been a year since his death and I'm still not over it. I never visited that pond again. I attended his funeral, but I had to leave early because I couldn't hold back tears. If I had stayed, I would have sobbed. I miss him more and more with each passing day. I have dreams about him sometimes. Except, he's not the same. He has white hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. But his personality, his way of speaking, his mannerisms, his voice... It's all the same. He's exactly the same as I remember him, save for a few tweaks.

The only thing I could draw was him. I have a whole sketchbook just full of images I drew of him. Nothing else. Sometimes he's as he used to be, with dark hair and dark eyes. Sometimes, he's what I dreamt of, light hair and light eyes with frost blooming on his beloved blue jacket. Only recently have I been able to draw dragons and inventions again, like I used to.

Today, I went through all my sketches of him. Every single one. I never realized that even when we weren't dating, I drew him more than anything else. I sat on the ground by the fireplace, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I looked through sketches and completed pictures alike. And, sitting there, I could have sworn I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I thought I heard Jack whisper "I love you" in my ear. I saw nothing, but I still answered.

"I love you too, Jack."


End file.
